


Boys Will Be Boys

by brainvirus



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Child Abuse, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's bad let's just leave it as that., Mild Gore, Negligence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 01:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14509854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainvirus/pseuds/brainvirus
Summary: Or, why the Summoner will never be okay.





	Boys Will Be Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically the back story for my Kiran/OC. TL;DR his father was an abusive drunk and his mother just didn't care.
> 
> Unbetaed. I was tired when I wrote this so ignore any typos please. I'm aware of them and I will edit them later.

He's fifteen. Trembling like a leaf in the midnight chill, his father's hand on the back of his neck like a vice, nails digging into his tanned flesh as they leave the two-story house only an hour away from the city.

Only an hour away from such a massive metropolis but it feels like decades, upon decades, isolation becoming ever present in the teenager's gut as he's shoved into the passenger side of the truck.

"D-dad can't you take Grason or V-victor I'm sure they'd love to g-go with you."

He can't keep the stutter out of his vernacular, as the truck engine snarls to life in the dead of the night. He doesn't know if it's the cold or the fear. He doesn't know if he'll even live to see the dawn.

The scent of booze, cheap liquor, fills the cab of the truck. The angry glint of the rifle is visible even from his seat, whenever he glances back with paranoid eyes; a deer caught in the headlights. 

"They went with me last time," Father says, voice slurring as the truck momentarily lurches.

The teen is practically shaking at this rate, scrambling for purchase on the seat in the pitch black of the truck. The occasional street lamp passed by is the only thing lighting up enough for him to see. So he can see father, and the gleam of the rifle barrel in the back. 

"I gotta spend some time with my favourite son," Father continues, a hand leaving the steering wheel to rest way too comfortably on his son's thigh. "Don't I Kiran?"

Kiran forces down the revulsion. Bile in his esophagus like venom, threatening to asphyxiate. Can't show disgust around father, agree and nod agree and nod agree and nod—

"Y-yes, Dad," slips the reply as easy as drowning. 

Good boy.

A final squeeze to his thigh, nails digging in like an animal. But that's what father is right? An animal, a monster, the thing to be feared but to be respected always respected because the boy is filth and deserves no better. A dog. Good boy.

The truck veers, tires screeching, wrenching Kiran from his thoughts. Still shaking. Still nauseated. Better snap out of it, dog. The truck pulls over, and Father reaches back for the long rifle. The angry weapon that glints in the light and threatens everything. 

Father's laugh at the boy's shaking is mocking. "Get out."

Better comply. Better go hunting with Father. Better do everything he says. 

His entire frame doesn't feel human, he never feels human, not even while he gets out of the truck and enters the woods. The trees spiral upwards and disappear into the inky black, he can't see anything. Just what are they hunting? Shouldn't question Father, though.

Air is visible as it billows out of him in puffs, terrified dragon's breath, he likes to imagine. His mind is safe, safe from Father. Father can do anything to harm him, but at least his psyche will always be a world into which he can escape. 

Father grabs his neck again, Kiran wasn't paying attention. Pitiful. The dog needs to be punished and Father is aware of just how to.

"Stand still," the snarl from the monster is enough to make Kiran stiffen, as he keeps fiddling with the hem of his shift. He can't stop shaking, why can't he stop shaking?

The very end of the rifle barrel rests itself near the juncture of Kiran's throat, aiming at something unseen in the ambient dark. It threatens to suffocate but Kiran refuses to drown in its depths. 

"Hold still, boy." 

The scent of alcohol pervades the air around him, and he wants to choke, dear God he wants to choke. It's silent except for Father and his breathing, and he can't stop shaking. The rifle's hammer clicks back, and he knows it's prepped to fire despite being unable to look back, and he can't stop shaking fuck fuck fuck he knows he needs to stay still or he'll get fucking hurt—

The gun fires and a scream tears itself from Kiran's esophagus, hands clasping at the side of his neck where the bullet nicked and tore the flesh. It won't quit bleeding and he stumbles and falls into the dirt, sliding down the hill, and he can't get a grip because the leaves are too moist, the ground too chilled by frost for this time of year. Father is laughing and he's bleeding and crying, and he wants to go home, he just wants to go home——.

"Can you get this done for me?" A voice questions.

Kiran is snapped from his reverie, thumb absent-mindedly rubbing the scar along his throat with a stoic expression on his visage. He's twenty-one and far, far away from that forest, his father, and the blood.

"Yeah I'll...get right on that."


End file.
